The Pinky Nibbler
by mabarberella
Summary: Edward strives to create drinks that interrupt conversation, but doesn't realize what inspiration truly means until he meets Bella, a newly freed, formerly-caged bird with a contagious laugh. Written for Fandom4TwilightG: Remembering Gisela.


**Title**: The Pinky Nibbler

**By:** MaBarberElla

**Rating**: M (mostly language and, really, would you read this if it weren't?)

**Summary**: Edward strives to create drinks that interrupt conversation, but doesn't realize what inspiration truly means until he meets Bella, a newly freed, formerly-caged bird with a contagious laugh.

**A/N**:

_This fic was part of the compilation created for "Fandom4TwilightG: Remembering Gisela," and is dedicated to the memory of her: an immediate friend, a motivating reader, and a caring person who knew how to give a hug. I only spent a short afternoon with her at SDCC 2010, but she cared for my hot, preggo, grumpy ass like she'd known me her whole life. You meet so few people who are selfless, compassionate, and full of life; it was inspiring to know her._

_The inspiration behind this fic is drawn from crazy nights at SDCC 2012 with the lovely & talented GreenPuma, the witty & charming Wrong13, a flirtatious Eric, a quiet Balthazar, a broody Eric-Balthazar, a drink really named the Pinky Nibbler, and mostly, a woman named Gisela whose contagious laugh will be missed terribly._

_This story wouldn't have happened without the encouragement, support, and real-time betaing done by DazzledIn2008 as she taped her eyelids open night the compilation entries were due, betaing twice afterwards as I made revisions, and then harassing the crap outta me until I posted it. Any errors are mine and mine alone; I can't keep my hands out of the cookie jar, even when threatened._

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O.O** THE PINKY NIBBLER **O.O

**.**

She threw back her head and laughed. A _real_ laugh. One that echoed through the small space of the bar; one that made you suppress a chuckle yourself. Her laugh inspired those around her to try to make it happen again, a desire which increased two-fold at the slapping of her hand over her mouth to stifle the unfiltered sound.

What a fantastic specimen this woman was: genuine, full of passion for life, obvious in her happiness. Happy to be where she was, doing what she was, being who she was.

I remembered her from before, from the first time she came into the bar a year or two earlier, but not because of her laugh. She seemed so different from the person she had been then; she had come in with her husband, a controlling, self-indulgent ass, generic in that sensitive ponytail-in-the-90's way. And where he had been loudly self-important, she had been silently self-conscious.

They had arrived that night with a throng of followers, all of whom seemed enthralled as he held court with self-professed stories of his intelligence and prowess, completely without regard for how his choice of words demeaned the unobtrusive woman at his side. It was as if he had adorned himself with her silent beauty, while everything else about her almost disappeared. Too-thin, sallow-faced, and clothed in multiple shades of inoffensive beige, she practically faded into the off-white leather of the low, modern couches without protest.

He'd had the audacity to order for her, and I caught a glimpse of her flinch when he'd said, "something with tequila." For himself, he'd pretentiously ordered a Modelo Negro and whiskey. A beer and a shot in _my_ bar. Bourbon, brandy, whiskey, gin. That's what we sold. Not fucking beer. We invented masterpieces with hard liquor and accoutrements that never failed to surprise our clientele; we didn't sling malted barley. I found myself astonished that someone could even find one in this place.

Worse, he had thrown back the shot of small-batch whiskey and chased it with the beer, finishing half the glass in two large gulps. I'd started toward his table to eject him for insulting and unsavory behavior, when Esme had intervened, practically clothes-lining me, ready to knock me out of my socks if necessary.

"This is Carlisle's bar, Masen," she said. "You touch one hair on that disgusting _gentle_man's head, and he will bust yours open. Or guilt you into wishing he had." Full of fire and sass, she'd tossed her caramel hair over her shoulder and looked me right in the eye, driving her point home with that look that only worshipped teachers and strict mothers had perfected.

"He's entitled to his drink, just like anyone else. You go all elitist mixologist on his ass, and we'll be labeled as the snobby speakeasy with too high of an opinion of ourselves to be bothered with customers. And then we'll be out of business."

It'd killed me to admit it, but she'd been right. We were a fledgling idea of a bar, and our window to make it or break had been closing quickly. Investors demanded results, and although we had been garnering attention in the community, it could have been taken away as easily as it had been acquired.

"Besides, even if he _is_ an asshole, he's an asshole _producer_ from L.A. If we impress him, he goes home and spreads the word, and then every actor and musician that finds himself filming or touring or whoring it up in this town wants to experience what we have to offer. If he hates us and flaps his gums upon arriving home, we're toast. This is Carlisle's dream, Edward. Respect it."

Convinced at the mom-stare, then pushed over the edge at her little after speech, I felt like an ass. I would never have done anything to jeopardize Carlisle. He had been like an older, irritating brother to me. I'd worked my way through school at the martini bar he managed, learning the trade and studying my ass off. When the time came to shell out cash for grad school and the money well had run dry, and he'd asked me to go with him to open this fantastic dream of a bar, I'd never hesitated.

"Alright, Esme," I conceded. "But the guy is still an epic douche."

"That he is, Edward," she agreed. "Not only that, but it seems he has a serious case of 'small penis syndrome:' degrading the woman who supports him in front of a crowd of worshipping onlookers. He probably doesn't know how to use his fingers or tongue to make up for it, either," she added, her words dripping with liquid venom.

"I don't know, Esme. Why else would a beautiful woman like that stay with such a douche? He is obviously a moron, has no common sense, exudes essence of asshole, and is completely oblivious to the concept of empathy. He's got to be able to part his own hair with his tongue or something…"

"He's controlling and rich, which equal security. There's got to be some reason he has her under his thumb. Never you mind, though, it's not your table, and it's not your problem. Let the guy drink his beer and act important. If he recommends us, we're made, and joke's on him, right?"

Without waiting for the answer to her rhetorical question, Esme had turned away from me, re-established her impervious professionalism and sweet smile, and headed back to the guy's table, ready to please. The only giveaway to her angry demeanor and low tolerance for stupid had been the swing of her hips, bordering the dangerous precipice between determined and violent, the image in my head _now_ one of a python ready to strike.

Whatever lingering inclination toward the motherly image she had held in my mind had immediately disappeared.

I'd realized with a start that I seriously needed to shrink my own head at some point.

The reason shrinks became shrinks, right? They need to psychoanalyze themselves, but instead, get multiple degrees to be licensed to psychoanalyze everyone else.

"Yeah, I guess," I'd muttered in her direction as I'd turned back to the drinks I'd been attempting to master. I was a perfectionist and still learning. I'd always considered mastering the art of mixing a fantastic drink to be an ever-moving target toward which my goals should be somehow aligned. Metaphor for my life or not, I wanted to make people drinks that made them say, "Jesus CHRIST, that's _fantastic_." I wanted my drink to interrupt their conversation and become their topic of conversation.

Yes, I was a praise whore – always have been. It made me happy when people drank something I created and smiled that dazzling, impressed smile - it still did. Two-fold benefit to becoming a bartender: the never-ending praise and the access to attempt solving other people's issues so I could take my mind off of my own. It was like a paid internship.

Two years later and I was still "interning," still attempting to solve everyone else's problem while ignoring my own, and still seeking praise – and effort I was going to extend in full force to the woman with the laugh who used to be with a douchebag. I just needed to figure out the right combination of liquor and deliciousness to garner her attention.

It's what I loved about working here: chasing perfection in a glass. I never stopped learning and striving to make myself better here. Yes, it was liquor, but it was also figuring out how to create something new and unexpectedly pleasing based on something else the customer liked. They asked for a Gimlet? We don't serve Vodka, but my brain would start churning out something that my hands had already started to execute that I would be willing to bet they'd like.

When a customer didn't know what they want and had enough confidence in me to say, "Make me something fantastic," I never hesitated to barrel forward, relying on instinct and throwing caution out the window. The result of which was many a time a name I invented in my head that described the creative process, or the desired outcome, which I kept it to myself. I never uttered these names aloud. I started to crank out my latest invention for which I had no name, something special for the beautiful girl at the end of the bar, the one with the salacious, contagious laugh. I wanted to give her something new to celebrate the new person she had become.

As I coated the inside of the glass with lemon, I thought about whether this drink would induce a smile, a praiseful word, or nothing at all. I finished and slid it to the end of the counter with dexterous accuracy perfected over the last few years, right into her hands at the end of the bar.

I held out hope for at least a second thought, a pause in conversation, or a smile. What I got far, far exceeded my expectations.

She took that first sip, entranced in the conversation she'd started with the strangers around her, and stopped short. She looked at her glass as a giant smile overtook her beautiful, genuine features, and she looked around. For me. She was searching me out behind the bar, trying to remember the face of the guy that had slid her the drink.

I caught her eye and had the presumption to lift my chin at her in a desperate attempt to elicit a concrete, memorable reaffirmation of her compliment. I _needed_ it for some reason. She had gone from a shadow of a person at a douchebag's side to a vivacious beauty demanding attention without any inkling of her swan-like transformation, and I needed to be in her circle of approval. I wanted her to _want_ my drink.

Who was I kidding? Had I forgotten that she was matrimonially attached to a loud, beer-guzzling jackhole of a douche? I could only daydream that she'd booted him to the curb like the gutter trash he was, but I couldn't make that assumption without some sort of proof, even if she did seem a different person.

I turned away from the eyebrow she raised at my chin lift in hopes of leaving her wanting enough that she'd make her way down to me to continue our silent conversation, husband or not. I refocused my attention back on my other clientele: oh yes, the gentleman who thought Jack Daniels was bourbon. Well, Sir-with-The-Floppy-80's-Boy-Band-Wig, meet one of my favorite drinks, "Mapling My Dickel So Hard." Dickel bourbon, maple syrup, and something I'll never disclose.

And yes, Dickel Bourbon might be so fucking good that it had an effect on my dick.

"Here you are, sir," I said. "Something I concocted based on your love of fine bourbon." I didn't even choke when I said, "fine." Esme was wearing off on me. I found myself able to filter my speech much more than I had been even a year ago. She was a good influence, that woman. She was purely loyal, sexy, and motherly all at the same time. I totally got why Carlisle couldn't get enough of her, but at the same time, was slightly disgusted with myself for being attracted to her.

I should've used myself as a case study on the Oedipus complex. Would've made for a nice thesis.

Yes, it was on my list of things to address during my someday future head-shrinking session.

The gem of a woman at the end of the bar sipped, still with one eyebrow lifted in question in my direction, but I needed to finish the Brandy Alexander for the beauty before me ... the beauty who looked at me like I had just committed some sort of atrocity against the mixture in front of me.

"_Yes_," I said sharply at her accusatory stare, "I _did_ just put an egg yolk in it. Wait until the first sip to scrunch the nose in my direction. You'll see, you'll see…"

I dipped the end of the short straw in, just an inch, pushed my finger against the other end to seal it, and lifted the taste to my mouth to make sure it was exactly right. It was. Tossing the straw confidently off the rim of the trashcan behind the bar, I slid it forward slowly as she kept her untrusting half-smirk in place. I gave her the "try it, I dare you" eyebrows. She finally broke my gaze, evaluated her glass, lifted it to her lips, and with one last beautiful, cocky purse of her lips, she took a sip.

Then she swallowed.

And I waited. It always took a beat or two.

And then her eyes rounded open brightly as a brilliant smile broke through her cocky expression.

"Holyyyyy crap. I mean, holy CRAP! I have _never_ had a Brandy Alexander like this before." She paused to take another sip, and I was rewarded with another huge grin. "You do _not _disappoint, that is for certain. Seriously, Sugar, what's your name?"

"Edward," I replied with an honest smile. I didn't take a compliment for granted. Plus, she was tall, sexy with a great rack, and, as an added bonus, entertaining. She'd been playing dealer's choice roulette with my drinks all night. I had my hopes up, to say the least. Smart, beautiful, witty, and for some reason, revved my engine. Plus, it had been a long time.

A long time since Tanya broke our engagement.

A long time since I'd had the nerve to really put myself out there again.

A long time since I'd been more than just physically interested in anyone.

A long time since I'd had a nightcap with anyone besides my left hand. My right hand was for the fast and dirty in the shower. The lefty – or the Blind Date, as I called it – I saved for special occasions. Like tonight, if I didn't get _something_ after this beautiful bit had been flirting with me all night.

"I'm Rose," my Brandy Alexander said, leaning forward as if we were suddenly sharing conspiratorial information. "And I want you to move in with me. Like tonight. And make me drinks for the rest of my natural existence. And maybe do a little gardening…"

The smile on her face told me she might be totally serious if there hadn't been that suddenly blaringly obvious ring on her left third finger that I may have subconsciously missed all fucking night.

Blind Date it is.

"Rose? Rose!" pleaded an astonished voice from the crowd of strangers. I turned my head to see the beautiful woman with the contagious laugh making her way down the bar.

"Bella! Seriously? What the FUCK are you doing here? I haven't seen you since… since you ran off to marry that asswipe. How are you?"

The Beautiful Laugh at the end of the bar finally had a name. Bella. And she was no longer that broken shell of a girl she had been before. Her happiness seemed to emanate from within; she glowed as she tackle-hugged my patronne.

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they hug: the homophobic partial handshake hug, the uncomfortable weird aunt hug with one arm and the patting with the other to get it over with, the "don't mess up my hair" hug, commonly executed by insincere women. And then there's the _real_ huggers. My dad had been a real hugger, regardless of what men were supposed to do. He hugged all of us like he meant it with every bone in his body.

This woman hugged with everything she had. She pressed her whole self against Rose like her life depended on it, arms like a vice-grip around her middle, holding on for way longer than was standard or necessary. She practically squeezed a genuine smile out of Rose, who couldn't help but huff out a breath at the contact. This Bella may have at one time been a frail, passive woman, but now she was wielding some strength and apparently using it for a good purpose.

During my endless psychoanalysis, I'd realized that I don't really hug girls unless they are friends. Fucking's different. I may kiss a girl I'm going home with for one night like she's an oasis and I'm dying in the desert, but I'm not going to linger and hug her. Hugging is intimate, sweet … family.

Tanya had been a terrible hugger. It made her uncomfortable; she was more of a sideways, one-armed back-patter. Maybe that should have been my clue-in. All my serious friends were serious huggers. Esme would hug you like you were her lifeline: so tight you could barely breathe. Carlisle would bear-hug your head, elbows on your shoulders, and make you feel so dear to him it was a little overwhelming, especially since he was a guy. My sister Alice would just cling to you like you were the most important person in the world; sometimes I literally had to peel her off me. Tanya, well, she had just counted the seconds until it was over.

Kinda like our relationship.

I couldn't believe a woman like this would ever marry that sensitive ponytail that had douched up the place years before. He was surely the kind of person that would just let his arms hang limp, waiting for it to be over. I would've seriously punched him in the balls on principle, had I met him under other circumstances. I have no patience for apathy.

Apathetic this woman was not.

Her beauty unintentionally intimidated those around her, purely out of jealous need to be as confident and happy as she seemed to be. Her demeanor deviated so sharply from the last time she'd been here that it was almost unfathomable. It was as if she had reclaimed herself from the man that had kidnapped and held her personality hostage.

Her third finger, as it gripped Rose just beneath the plunged back of her dress, was beautifully naked.

Apparently, the caged bird had been set free, and she was beautiful in her freedom.

I shook my head to free myself of such thoughts. She wasn't mine, never had been, and why should it matter to me if she were set free? And why did I find her so fucking intriguing? If Brandy Alexander got my engine going, this Bella girl threw me into fifth gear with the fucking parking brake on.

This girl… I found myself wanting to be on the receiving end of that hug. I also wanted to be buried balls deep between her legs. It was a strange feeling.

I shook it off.

Jasper leaned forward and quietly filled her water glass, nodding and smiling at her. He did this each time he provided her with some detail she desired but didn't even know she was missing.

She gave him a half-smile and continued her animated reunion with her friend.

"I can't believe you're here, woman! What the fuck has it been? Two years? We see each other or talk every day since we were thirteen, and then you meet that fuckwad and take off to LA with him, never to be heard from again? What the fuck happened with you? Was he just a ginormous jerkbag or what?"

Bella hesitated, trying to put together a response, but apparently my Brandy Alexander wasn't going to wait for her to filter what she was thinking.

"I mean, you were BELLA!" she said, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a slight shake. "The most kick-ass, fucking dance-all-night and then give the boys the slip to go home and study crazy-ass I ever knew!"

The beautiful woman's face went from formulating a plan to resignation in half a second. She opened and closed her mouth twice, looking anywhere but my Brandy Alexander's eyes.

All at once, understanding finally dawned on the inquisitor.

"It was Charlie," she stated, rather than asked. "You freaked when you lost Charlie. You needed someone to fill in the gaps," she resolved, searching Bella's eyes for the affirmation that she eventually found.

"Oh, honey. You never realized, did you? He wasn't your only family. _We_ were. Me, Emmett, Alice. We were your best friends."

My head snapped up at the name Alice, my attention caught as a reflex purely because the name was so familiar to me. Now I was blatantly watching, not really caring if they noticed.

She cupped Bella's face softly in her palms, "We were always there for you, honey; we would've held you up."

Before my eyes, the face of the beautiful woman who emanated freedom and excitement for life crumpled like a toddler's unappreciated dandelion bouquet under a neglectful parent's heel. She attempted composure once, then twice, then let the tears roll down her cheeks as she threw herself back around her friend.

My Brandy Alexander took her in her arms, whispering something in her ear that made the beautiful Bella laugh, and then made a firm decision.

"Look, honey, we have a lot to catch up on, and a lot of serious talking to do, but I'm just so fucking happy to see you that we're going to take tonight to just blow it all off: the steam, the frustration with the past, the years we missed. We're back together, honey, and you know as well as I that together we can bulldoze the fucking fun outta this town if we so desire. So, in the meantime, let's fucking DRINK!"

She turned to the bar to engage me, my rapt attention caught by the drama of beautiful women, pain, loss, douchebaggery, dear friendship, and now, the desire to get shitfaced.

I was definitely in it for the long haul… and that last part.

"What, my beautiful Brandy Alexander, can I get you?" I asked in all seriousness.

Her surprised face made a brief appearance at my utterance of the nickname I had been using for her in my mind, but she and her beautifully foul mouth recovered quite quickly.

"Sidecars. Two of them. And make them just as fabulous as that last one, Finger Porn."

I nearly choked.

"Wha- what did you call me?"

I was so rarely shocked by women in this place that I couldn't believe her feistiness, or my luck.

"Yeah, I called you Finger Porn. I've noticed your hands. If that jaw and those fucking romance-novel-smoldering eyes of yours weren't enough," she said conspiratorially, inadvertently squishing her tits together with her elbows as she leaned her excellent cleavage forward over the bar to stage whisper at me, "those long, strong fingers of yours could make me blush all by themselves."

Shocked by a woman for the first time in a long time, I found myself speechless. Who was this woman? And how lucky was her fucking husband?

"I see by that look on your face that a woman who speaks what she really thinks is a shock to you. For your own good, I wish you find many more who do that and that you fill up your life with them. Shallow girls are a waste of your time and those intelligent eyes. Plus, it would just make me sad to see someone as fantastic as you fucking some useless Comso-ordering sorority chick. Seriously. But I digress…"

Still staring at her as if I'd just had the door of the true world of women opened before me and caught a glimpse of the real thing, she stepped in my line of vision to block the rest of the view.

With her spectacular rack.

"So, Sidecars. At least, for me. Bella?" she asked as she turned to her friend, who wore a smug smile, seemingly in appreciation of my Brandy Alexander being her loud, in-your-face self.

"You're the expert, honey. Whatever you think I need is probably what I need…"

"Sidecars," Rose said. "And put whatever spin on them you need to make them yours, Finger Porn." She threw this huge, intoxicating smile at me that divulged just how ecstatic she was to spend time with her friend again, tipsiness aside.

Just then, Jasper leaned over and refilled Bella's water glass.

She noticed and leaned forward.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly.

"Jasper," he drawled modestly, looking down. He took this barback thing seriously: he only ever spoke if he was asking a client what they needed, me what needed to be refilled, or Carlisle if there was anything else he could do forty times before he left at night.

He was way too polite and way too effective at his job.

"Jasper," she said, testing it on her tongue and committing it to memory. He smiled widely, giving her a glance at his honest nature. He was the kind of guy that wore his heart on his sleeve and expected nothing from anyone except an opportunity to prove himself.

I wasn't at all bothered by the fact that my sister Alice was completely enamored with him.

It was hard to even think about objectifying women with Jasper around. If you commented on a girl's ass or tits, he would unintentionally make you wither with just a look. And it wasn't even a correcting look – it was enough for him to turn your direction and register what you'd said to make you want to kick your own ass. Like Esme, only a guy.

I'd never seen a person more adept at making a woman feel beautiful and desired to the point of even the most brazen woman ducking her head and blushing at a compliment from his mouth. He never pushed it farther, though, and they never expected him to. It was impressive the way he walked that line with the purest of intentions.

I realized I was frequently taking note of his subtle mannerisms and the way he used respect and well thought-out observation rather than superfluous chatter or compliments when he did finally open his mouth and engage.

I set to work pulling just the right brandy, finding Jasper at my elbow with the fresh lemon juice in hand and at the ready. He was eager to learn so he could one day move up to bartender, but not in a pushy way. I thanked him with a nod and put together the drink, adding the Cointreau and a little spin of my own before sliding them slowly towards the ladies engrossed in conversation.

Bella smiled widely at me, unaware of the inherent charm of those upturned rose lips as she pursed them for the first taste of my latest creation. There was a delicious swallow and an immediate smile, but I knew it wasn't the best yet.

"Delicious," she said, not without excitement. "Thank you."

Her first words to me, and they were kind, but not reverent. I wanted her to be impressed by what I put in her mouth.

Boy, did I.

Chuckling to myself, I shrugged off the dirty thoughts starting to form and focused back on the drink I was making for another bourbon drinker across the room, contemplating how to drag out of her what she really wanted, what tastes were her match.

My perfect opportunity arose as my Brandy Alexander muttered something about going to see a man about a horse and teetered off to find the bathroom, chuckling to herself.

"So…what are you making?" Bella inquired just as I was plotting the perfect conversation starter.

Shocked at her interest, I looked up at her. "Ahhh… it's a bourbon drink," I said as I chipped the edges off a solid block of ice to make it fit inside the lowball glass. Chipping our own ice into the size and shape of a glass was one of our signature moves. It kept the drink cold without too much surface area melting too quickly and watering down the liquor.

"And… what's it called?" she inquired.

"Well… it's maple syrup and Dickel bourbon and some other ingredients…" I trailed off.

"Yes, but, what's it called?" she cocked her head, her face clearly revealing she could tell I was avoiding divulging the actual name. She glanced from me back to the stupid drink menu Carlisle insisted on creating, looking for something with those two ingredients.

I decided to take a chance and tell her. Why her, I didn't know. But it was definitely _her_.

"It's called… a Mapeling My Dickel So Hard."

She looked at me in shock for a fraction of a breath, then let out a huge, resounding laugh. It echoed honestly off the walls of the tiny space, putting the uppity exclusive clientele ill at ease.

"Are… you… serious?" she said between gasps of air as she laughed.

I smiled, looking right into her.

"Yeah, it's something I like to make bourbon lovers. The name is all mine – definitely _not_ on the menu." I couldn't help but smile back at her, her energy contagious.

"What is this called?" she asked, gesturing to her own drink.

"Just a Sidecar. I didn't do that much out of the ordinary to it. Do you like it?"

"It's great," she replied quickly.

"But…?" I prompted.

"No, good. Really good!"

"But you don't _love_ it," I led. "It's just a little...?"

"What's your name?" she asked. She seemed to be big on names.

"Edward," I said.

"Edward," she said, and I let out the breath I was holding. It was a simultaneous thrill and relief to hear her say my name.

"This drink. It's lovely, but it's just a little…" she took another sip, evaluating."It came on a little strong," she said, all flushed cheeks and a giant smile.

Holy shit. She was flirting with me.

"Came on… a little strong," I said, incredulous and turned on at the same time. "Well, we wouldn't want too strong of an approach now, would we?"

She smiled widely.

"Maybe I should try a Mapling My…" she trailed off.

Oh Jesus, please finish that sentence because it _is_, my dear. It is.

"A Mapling My Dickel So Hard? Well, if you think that Sidecar comes on too strong, then this would push you past your limit."

She raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Oh, really? Well, I'm pretty sure you don't know my limit, Edward."

_No, but I would love to find out._

She either totally read my thoughts or seemed to check her forwardness. She looked down and back at me with a tentative hopefulness in her eyes.

"Well, if this approach is all wrong, we've got to fix that, don't we? Time to reevaluate my approach," I said, taking her sidecar from her and handing it to Jasper to toss.

He lifted eyebrows in appreciative question and dumped the drink with a quick smile to Bella.

"Wait, wait! You just threw that out!" she exclaimed. "I was going to drink it. Why did you do that?!"

"Do you really," I said, putting both hands on the bar and leaning forward, my eyes serious and my mouth longing, "_really_ think that I would just stand here and watch you drink something that came on too strong? I want you to want that drink like it's ambrosia. Like if it fell over you'd have to stop yourself from licking it off the bar. I want your drink to be that good. Was that Sidecar that good?"

"Um…well…no," she admitted.

"Well, then, I'm going to revamp my approach. Sounds like rather than going right for the gold with a strong knock-your-socks off approach, you may require a little bit of libation… foreplay," I said, with a serious lift of my eyebrow. It was my challenge and my invitation. Would she bite? Was she ready to play?

I was sure as shit ready to play with her.

That moment of shock that I'd been so forward – much more forward than my sidecar – registered in her inviting blush, and then she accepted my challenge with a giant smile and a visible sparkle invading those seemingly innocent chocolate eyes.

"Why yes," she said in a coy voice that was invented to awaken my lower, unpaired appendage, "it sounds like that is exactly what we need. Some very well intentioned… foreplay."

The once-vacant personality was long gone; this woman was confident, sexy, and ready to play.

Game fucking _on_.

My hands were already moving before I'd consciously decided what to make her. I knew it was going in a high ball, so I started chipping away the edges of the solid ice, shaping it to fit the tall, skinny glass. Flipping the ice deftly as I chipped away with the side of a stainless steel spoon, I kept eye contact with her, watching her grin widen until it was splitting her face, that sweet blush still fighting to be seen.

Ingredients next: sweet and tart, subtle, and a little surprise without it being a kick. Like a really hot first kiss: a hint at how hot making out would be, but leaving her wanting without being too forward.

I could do this. I could woo with liquor.

As I rubbed luscious red grapefruit around the edge of the glass, I thought about the color of her lips and how they reminded me of the red pulp of the fruit from which I'd removed the peel. I mixed the liquor with the juice, crushing the basil-mint mixture with the pressure of air between my clapped hands, thinking about the citrus-induced smile earlier from the end of the bar and the liking of brandy but not the loving of the strong approach of my Sidecar.

Tone down the approach. Let it sneak up on her. Reel her in with the citrus, leave her guessing with the sweet-tart and that heady hint of basil.

People don't give basil enough credit. Seriously.

I put it together, shook the shit out of it, and poured it quickly over the ice. I executed my short-straw test while she cocked her head in curiosity.

Sweet. Tart. Classic with a twist of unexpected. Subtle and intriguing.

Not coming on too strong.

Long sexy strokes with a hint of what could come.

Literally.

Perfect.

I smiled at her, feeling a little shaky, having hopefully guessed her likes. Pushing the drink forward, I held my breath silently, waiting for the first sip.

She picked it up, smiled, and wet her sweet lips before she pressed the citrus-covered glass edge to them. She tipped the glass back and sipped.

Wait, wait, wait. The worst part.

She looked at me, swallowed slowly, and then parted her lips in slight awe.

I swear the way she perceived me changed in that second.

"Yes?" I said. It came out almost a whisper.

I felt a little drunk.

"Yes. Yes! Yes. Wow. Wow, yes!" she said, a flicker of amazement blipping past my radar and in her eyes.

I sighed hugely in relief. When did I start holding my breath?

"It's... it's perfect. So perfect! What is it called?"

The words slipped through my lips before I could stop them or even contemplate them.

"The Pinky Nibbler."

Where the fuck did that come from? It was like I was developing Tourette's.

She blushed a beautiful deep rose but belly laughed nonetheless. She was a paradox. Sweet and tart, savory and citrus-y, crisp and classy.

"It's perfect. Pinky Nibbler. Completely perfect."

After that, she turned her attention back to Rose on catching up, with the slight distraction of ordering more Pinky Nibbling from me. And I wanted to nibble, ever-so-desperately.

She eventually waived her rights to choose what she was drinking and just told me to make me what she needed from then on. It was time to move on from the pinky nibbling and move on to the main course.

A man only has so much patience, especially with such an intriguing specimen.

I upped the ante with the next drink. I took a chance on what I felt she would connect with. A little more passion, a little less sweet, a little more liquor, a little less of who I tried to be, and a little more of who I really am: this would be the coup de grace of drinks I'd ever put together. I set the bar so high for myself with her; I hoped desperately she would adore it.

I impressed myself with the straw test, more maturity and complexity in this drink then I'd imagined I could execute. I slid the drink slowly toward her, not trying to interrupt her conversation, but truly hoping to absolutely interrupt her conversation.

She pulled it toward her with a questioning look at the color.

"This isn't my Pinky Nibbler?!"

"No, but I think you'll like it."

"So, what is this?" she pushed.

"The next step," I stated simply with a slight shrug.

"The next step?" she asked, confused.

"Well, it seemed like you'd had enough foreplay, and might be ready for the next step," I explained, tentatively.

"Oh, really?" she questioned, coy eyebrow in place. "And what if I was really enjoying all that foreplay?"

"Well, no one is going to be satisfied with indefinite pinky nibbling. Eventually, you're going to want to move on."

"But I _love_ the pinky nibbling. What if that's all I want?" she pouted, turning slightly away.

"I think you should give the next step a chance. The Pinky Nibbler will pale in comparison," I said with way more confidence than I actually had.

She turned back toward me, a sexy smile stretching across her lips.

"All right. I'll give it a shot. But if I want to go back to foreplay, you won't be disappointed, will you?"

I imagined what making out with her might be like and answered honestly.

"Not a chance."

"Okay. I'm game. What's it called?

"Nope, not until you try it."

"Seriously? Come on," she said, assuming I would tell her.

"Nope, seriously. Not until you have at least one sizable sip."

She sized me up with her eyes, figuring me out. I smiled, unknowingly opening myself up with this one and putting serious stock in my ability to please her. With alcohol.

She kept her eyes on me as she wrapped her thin fingers around the sweaty glass and slowly raised it to her lips. She parted them just enough, and her tongue pushed forward to taste the edge of the glass as she rested it on her full bottom lip. Closing her top over the liquid, she took the first sip, her eyes still on me.

Her eyebrows raised and came together, as if she were delighted and ready to cry simultaneously. She slowly let the glass lead her hand back to the table with a quiet thunk, eyes still fixated on mine. Her eyes finally closed as she swallowed. Her head tipped back and a quiet, delicious moan eased lustily from her parted lips.

Holy shit, I was going to hurdle this bar and hump her in the middle of Carlisle's fine establishment.

"And what, pray tell, the fuck was _that_?" she accused in a surprised voice.

I cleared my throat, willing some semblance of control over my body. I hadn't been this fucking turned on in… never. I had _never_ been this turned on. And seriously, it was from watching a girl drink.

_My_ drink.

I swallowed, and tried again.

"That was a Screaming Orgasm," I said, attempting nonchalance but wavering infinitesimally.

Her smile was not as broad and jovial and giddily flirtatious as it had been for the last hour or so.

Her smile was suddenly very, very serious.

"Yes," she said, her eyes zeroing in on mine, "Oh, yes. It was."

"So…. you liked it then?" I asked, desperate to hear the words, even though I could see the meaning behind what she'd already said.

"Oh, yes, yes. I did. And by yes, I mean I want to jump in this glass and drink my way out. I want to drink this whole thing and then lick the glass clean so as not to waste a drop of this fantastic concoction." She took another mouthful, swirled it around for good measure, let loose a quiet moan, and swallowed. Blinking slowly and looking up at me. "Does that answer your question?"

She knew. At least I _think_ she knew. She had to know. I was torturing myself at this point. I really fucking hoped she was leading where I was desperate to go. All the blood in my body had relocated, and the trance my cock was in was making it hard to follow through with a response. I wasn't outright staring stupid, but I wasn't far.

I saw Jasper move in my peripheral vision and turned to look his way for help. He smiled that "you've met your match" smile, pointed his eyebrows in her direction, and shrugged at me. That look said so much.

I didn't want to disappoint him. Or myself.

"It sure does… uh… answer my question."

"Good, because I'm ready for another," she said, pushing the glass back my way. I hadn't even realized she'd sucked it down already.

Fuck. Sucked it down.

I was such a fucking adolescent.

"Why yes, you are ready for another, aren't you?" I asked with an air of innocence which she chose to ignore. She smiled at me, watching me put together another drink, which I quickly executed with a little less sweet, a little more kick, and a touch of champagne. I placed it in front of her with care.

"And, what's this?" she asked, her gaze locked on mine.

"A Double Screaming Orgasm," I said, deadly serious.

Without a word she took the first few swallows. When she finally set the glass down, she looked straight through me.

"There's a first time for everything."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph and every single disciple, and I have no idea who else to list because I'm not Catholic.

Every drop of blood had left my brain. I was a walking zombie following his dick around at this point.

That moment was not only my undoing, but unfortunately was also her friend's untimely return from the bathroom. She reluctantly turned back to chat with Rose, whose nickname in my head suited her much better than her actual name.

Once out of the trance Bella had put me in, I realized the immense amount of slack I'd been enjoying. Turned out, Jasper had been watching a lot more closely than he let on the last few months. He'd filled all my orders and had even created something of his own, pleasing the hot blonde on the other side of Bella.

I jumped back into the well-oiled machine that our staff had become and filled drinks quickly and with attentive precision. I watched Carlisle at the end of the bar as he dazzled some tourists with his innovation and charm. Esme, surprisingly never jealous of his antics with the customers, egged him on with her smile from a far table. It was amazing how, no matter what they were doing, their eyes never truly left each other.

My attention back on Bella, I noticed she was acting a bit tipsy. Maybe that double had been a bit much when I didn't know her limits. She set her drink down, smiling at Jasper as he removed it and refilled her water.

"Do your magic," she said to me, a challenge in her voice.

"Oh, I will," I said, double entendre at full blast. Goddamn, I don't think I'd ever spent this much energy flirting before, nor enjoyed it half as much. I felt like I was high on adrenaline, and all we'd done was talk.

Jasper leaned over when her attention was away and spoke in a low voice.

"I've made sure her water's always full, and she's been keeping even between the booze and the water. Just so you know."

I nodded and decided that the next drink would be very little alcohol – just enough for taste – and on the house. Cherry, a touch of Cointreau, egg whites, grape, a pulverized bit of herbs, and a splash of something rich. It would nourish and hydrate and hopefully make her salivate.

I gave it my best, tested it, and moved it toward her. She saw me moving, evaluated her glass, and spoke.

"Not a Pinky Nibbler, not a Screaming Orgasm," she asked. "Not a Double Screaming Orgasm. Where does this leave us?"

"Well, I figured you might need a little break from the intense. It has hardly any alcohol. It's called the Afterglow."

She smiled, and somehow, I knew this was what I'd been waiting for.

"Edward?" she stage-whispered.

"Yes?" I also stage-whispered.

"I think I love you," she whisper-whispered.

My eyes went wide, and I stared.

She smiled hugely and took the drink, sipping slowly and savoring and making those sounds I wanted to hear up close.

The night was ending, and things were winding down. People were trickling out to either hit the after-hours clubs or toddle home. Bella and her friend stayed until the bar closed, sipping their drinks and chugging their water. They'd only been here for three hours, but they had already caught up between the two of them, roped me in hook, line, and sinker, and managed to make friends with every single staff member.

Jasper seemed extremely in favor of my doting on her; in fact, he completely enabled it. When we started cleaning up, and the ladies began to gather their things, he stopped me with a firm hand on my forearm.

"Ask her if she'd like you to take a picture of her and her friend," he suggested.

"Why?" I asked.

"Just trust me," he muttered with a smirk and a shake of his head.

I was desperate for more interaction from Bella before she left, so I jumped at his suggestion.

"Would you ladies like me to take a picture of you before you leave? You definitely want to document this moment, right?"

Rose agreed and handed over her phone. I took a few pictures of the two of them together, then Rose jumped in.

"Why don't I take a picture of all of you guys?" indicating the staff.

"Or, better yet, why don't I take a picture of you ladies with Jasper and Edward here?" Esme said, convincing the girls with a knowing smile.

I hesitated. I didn't want to be some stupid souvenir photo on someone's phone. I wanted to take this girl home. Tonight. Now.

Jasper did not hesitate and rounded the bar, prodding me out in front of him. He reached Rose and Bella, and centered himself between the two. Bella reached out to invite me to stand next to her. I moved to her side and felt a little light-headed at standing close enough to her to feel the heat from her against the hairs of my arms.

We snapped the photos, and the girls gathered their belongings. I was running out of time.

"Wait, let me take one, too," I said, pulling out my phone and handing it to Jasper. He and Rose didn't even bother with the pretense of standing in the picture.

Bella moved closer and put her arm around me. I couldn't help myself; I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into me. I really, really liked where this was going.

But then it was over, and they were making their way toward the door, thanking everyone and saying goodbye again. I tried to ask her for her number when Rose started a new conversation; Bella waved and offered a sweet smile, and then they were out the door.

I stared after them for a full minute, wondering where I'd gone wrong.

"You know, for being in a master's program, you sure are dumb as a fucking brick," Jasper said to me, shocking me with his language and intention.

"What?" I said, throwing him a shocked look.

"Go fucking get her number, you idiot. I can only set you up so many times for you to take advantage of proximity. You better catch up with her before you waste this last chance."

I stared for one long moment, thinking if Jasper were that direct, he must be right, and I'd better get my ass in gear.

I turned and ran out the door, completely shirking my closing duties, and took off in the direction of the main street one block over where the cabs all laid in wait at the end of the night.

I ran full out until I saw their shapes ahead, making their way toward the clump of cabs. I was nearly to her when I called out her name. She turned and beamed an ecstatic smile in my direction as I approached.

I couldn't think of what to do when I reached her, but it was all decided for me the minute I reached out my hand to grasp hers.

The electricity between the two of us – as palpable as it had been with a bar between us – was intense at the skin-to-skin contact. Her quick intake of air told me it was the same for her. Once I had my hand on her, my body wouldn't even let my mind entertain stopping there.

I wouldn't, however, be that controlling douchebag. I would take a chance and then let her decide.

I pulled her to me quickly, desperate for some sign that she felt the same. I leaned down, my lips an inch from hers, and asked with my unblinking stare. She closed the gap between us.

The moment I felt her hot breath on my tongue, I couldn't keep it in anymore. The keening, relieved sigh that escaped me as I pressed her to me seemed to urge her forward. I desperately pressed my lips to hers again and again, and when she reached for me with her tongue, I smashed her body into mine and kissed her with everything I could muster. I wanted to taste and feel all of her.

I settled for the hottest make out session of my life.

Her hands were in my hair before I could fully wrap my hands around her torso. I was consciously keeping myself from grabbing her ass from fear I wouldn't let go. I slid them down with just that intention and then wrapped them around the tops of her thighs, doing my best not to be too brazen.

She sighed and pushed herself flush against me, grasping for me with her lips, and teasing me with her tongue.

I couldn't stop, but I couldn't continue in the street this way, so I finally forced myself away from her.

I kept my nose touching hers, but looked into her eyes, waiting for her to come back to reality.

"Edward?" she asked.

I would've done anything she asked.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow night, Edward."

"What?" I said, confused.

"Tomorrow night, I will continue this make-out session with you, at my place, once the bar closes."

"What?" I said again, still not understanding.

She pulled me to her, her nose in my neck.

"Tomorrow night, I'll need some more Pinky Nibbling, maybe a Screaming Orgasm. But here's the thing, Edward," she whispered into my neck as she panted against me, making me crazy. "Save the Double Screaming Orgasm for after work. I'd like to know if it tastes just as good with my clothes off."

Holy.

Shit.

If I ever did anything ever again in my life, I would make sure it tasted just as good.

I tilted her face up to me for another kiss, so turned on, I was ready to throw her over my shoulder and haul her off to my place. She was so fucking delectable, I couldn't stand it.

"Tomorrow, Edward. Tonight, I need to know if that Afterglow was for real or not." She cocked her head and studied me, lips automatically lifting to me, even though I knew she was battling with her body to keep from kissing me.

She wanted to know if I was just the kind of guy that would take her home the first night, have my way, and then leave without the Afterglow. Well, I may have been that guy with some women, probably the result of having been the afterglow guy with Tanya without reciprocation.

Could I take that chance with Bella? Could I make her a real-life Afterglow?

I knew the answer, and I wanted to prove to her with more than just words.

I looked into her eyes, and spoke as honestly as I could.

"Yes. It was for real."

And then I hugged her.

With my whole body.

Hard-on and all.

And whispered in her ear.

"Come back tomorrow, Bella. I've got something that will put that Pinky Nibbler to shame. It's called the Hard-On Hug. I think you'll like it."

She looked up at me, brilliant smile shining out of her.

"Oh, I will. And I know I'll like it. I've already had a taste. It's delicious."

.

-END-

_._

_Well, there it is. I hope you liked it. I think Gisela would've, however, I'm pretty sure she would've given me flack in a review about no nookie after having to read 9,000 words…_

_If you're interested in having a Pinky Nibbler of your own, I can tell you there's a bar in San Diego where you can find a bartender you will have to charm, but it's possible. I __**might**__ share if you review… (Yes, I'm shameless. What? Like you're surprised?)_

_I know I haven't posted anything in quite some time, but as it goes, real life has taken a turn for the crazy in the last few months and cramped my style. Stupid responsibilities of being an adult! ::stomps feet petulantly:: Someday I will win the lottery and ride my horse and write every day. Until then, I will squeeze in the writing when I can. I should probably start playing the lottery if I want that to happen…_

_Know this, though, faithful readers: I've not left the fandom, as a couple of you have suspected. That probably won't ever happen. I'll be the only 93-yr-old still writing Twi smut. _

_Thank you again for reading. And thank you to everyone who contributed to the Fandom4TwilightG: Remembering Gisela. You guys are awesome on so many levels – organizing a fundraiser within hours of her death and having so many authors contribute and hundreds of readers donate is just one of the reasons._


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